


the way we do

by MarzgaPerez



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Inner Dialogue, Light Angst, M/M, Married Life, Ned did have an impact on their relationship, Nostalgia, Old Flames, Reflection, S11 HoS Gap Filler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28376493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarzgaPerez/pseuds/MarzgaPerez
Summary: A touch more after Ian and Mickey storm out of the house post-argument (S11 HoS episode)
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 9
Kudos: 103





	the way we do

“I wish I’d never met you,” Ian shouts before slamming the kitchen door behind him. He’s pretty sure he heard Mickey yell something back, but he didn’t hear the words, so it doesn’t count. 

_Stupid fucking asshole. Yeah, I’m bipolar, but you, Mickey Milkovich, are just plain fucked up._

Ian stops next to the piece-of-shit van still parked in the back of the yard. He notices the shattered window that no one has bothered to fix after the shooting incident from a few months ago. _On their wedding day._ Ian had punched Mickey—twice—to calm him the fuck down and keep him from going after Terry.

_God, that seems like a lifetime ago. Before the world went to hell. Before we were taking cheap shots at each other and saying the kind of shit you might think in a moment of anger but you know not to say out loud._

Ian leans against the van and slumps down until he’s seated on the edge of the back bumper.

_Breathe. Breathe._

He isn’t calm yet, wants to get there, knows he’s not going to spin out of control, like a “loon.” He fucking could though. Who would blame him? 

_Stupid quarantine, plus a house full of Gallaghers, and a husband who kicks my ass on every video game we play because he fucking sits around all fucking day while I go to work._

Ian punches the back door of the van with his fist and grimaces in pain, immediately regretting this action. He looks around to see if Mickey’s nearby, getting ready to mock him, because that’s what they’ve been doing lately.

But he’s not there. And Ian's alone. He thinks about calling Lip. Maybe he’d understand why the thing about Ned dying bothers him, especially since Lip's the one who'd texted him after seeing Ned's obituary in _The Chicago Tribune_. 

Or not. Lip always said that Ned was a pervert. A pedophile. Kash, too. Fuck, by Lip's definition, probably the actual one, there were others. So many others. But no one worth remembering. Even if he'd wanted to remember, Ian had been too high at the time. Maybe it was better that way. 

_Why did I say “piece of my heart?” That’s not exactly it. Maybe “place” in my heart?” Or something else. A place in my mind. A memory..._

Ned was more of a distraction when things weren’t going anywhere with Mickey. Ian was never _in love_ with the guy or anything. And he was an okay “boyfriend.” Wasn’t he?

After all, Ned could have pressed charges against Mickey after that beat-down he gave him in front of the Fountain. Or he could have refused to take that bullet out of Mickey’s ass.

Matter of fact, if it wasn’t for Ned, Mickey might have taken even longer to kiss Ian. If it wasn’t for Mickey being so jealous of Ned, maybe they wouldn’t have gotten so tangled up in each other’s lives. Maybe they wouldn’t have put each other through all that shit. 

_Maybe I could have tormented somebody else with my bipolar,_ Ian thinks bitterly. _I wish I’d never met you._ Probably works both way.

Ian’s gotten himself worked up again, a fresh wave of hurt coursing through his veins, and he’s on his feet now, heading over to the Alibi to pay a visit to Kevin’s make-shift gym.

Ian decides to jog there, trying to release his frustrations. He starts feeling a little more weightless every time his sneakers make contact with the concrete. He has a chant going in his head that matches his steady pace. 

_Mickey didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it. Mickey didn’t mean it. Fuck this shit._

_Mickey didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it. Mickey didn’t mean it. Fuck this shit._

He’s flying now, inhaling the fresh air, and letting it back out in measured breaths. _I need to do this more often._

He nearly stops in his tracks as he rounds the corner and spots a familiar figure. Mickey is just a few feet in front of him. Ian tries to slow down, realizes it’s better that they give each other some space right now. But it’s too late. Mickey must have heard someone running behind him and with his cat-like reflexes, has already turned around. Now there’s a disgusted sneer plastered across his face. 

“Stop fuckin’ following me!” Mickey pauses briefly to make his demand known but then continues onward.

Ian is newly peeved. _That’s not what I was doing, asshole._

“ _You_ stop following me,” he retorts, nearly walking in step with his husband.

“I’m following you, huh? _You_ were behind me.”

Mickey has a point, but Ian already has a response. “You probably knew where I was going...”

“You’re an idiot," Mickey shoots back. "And the last person I wanna see right now. So fuck off.”

The Alibi is about a block away, and Ian realizes that the two of them are so usually in tune, no wonder they had the same destination in mind, though Mickey is likely headed there to drink.

“See you later, shithead,” Ian declares before increasing his stride, a sure way to get ahead of Mickey. His husband may be able to kick his ass when they’re gaming, but he’s not as fast on his feet, not with his short stature.

Ian’s already half-way inside the entrance to the gym when Mickey passes by and says quickly, with extra spite, “Thought you’d be heading to Neddy's funeral. Maybe throw yourself on top of the casket.”

Ian decides he won’t dignify Mickey’s remark with a response. Well, not a verbal one. Flipping him the bird will do just fine. He’s 100 percent sure Mickey returns the gesture, but he doesn't care. He has better things to do at the moment.

* * *

It’s not easy. Being married to Ian Gallagher, being cooped up in a house with a bunch of other personalities and no goddamn privacy. It’s like prison all over again. At first, he and Ian are banging and enjoying each other’s company, being newlyeds and all, but then Ian gets kind of controlling…or motivated for them to be productive? Like he wants Mickey to follow some unspoken timeline— _how to be the ideal husband in 90 days or less_. 

But Mickey wants to have some more fun. It’s a goddamn pandemic. Why do they have to be working towards something all the time?

He knows why. And he should have guessed that Gallagher would opt for going to the gym—probably would have, except he was seething with anger.

Mickey knows that his husband needs structure when things are out of control. And he also knows that Ian doesn’t need Mickey throwing his bipolar in his face. Which Mickey wouldn’t do, under normal circumstances, but lately, with Ian being on edge and that shit about Ned dying and everything that came up that morning...well, it pushed his buttons. _Every. Single. Button._ Buttons he didn’t even know about. 

Did he remember Ned? _Fuck, yeah._ Like, not the guy’s name, per se, but that he’d existed.

A long time ago, Ned represented everything Mickey figured he couldn’t be, never wanted to be, not for Ian, not for anyone. Ned had referred to Mickey as Ian's "boyfriend." In public. Challenged him to say otherwise. And Ian had used that tiny spark of jealousy Mickey felt towards Ned to his advantage. 

But Ned was no stand-up guy. He was a wrinkled-ass, closeted perv who fucked teenagers and bought their affection. 

And Gallagher, after learning that he'd bit the big one, acted like the guy actually meant something to him? And he was suddenly overcome with sadness? Over that piece of shit? Didn’t make any sense. 

_I’m not jealous. Fuck no. I’m not. Guy’s dead. Gallagher’s with me. He's married to me,_ Mickey thinks to himself, finishing up his drink and glaring over at the morons who he almost robbed blind. 

_I coulda used that cash, too. Fucking Gallagher. Wedding money’s about gone. The shit’s gonna hit the fan when Ian finds out, but I’ll handle it. I’ve always taken care of him, haven’t I? Better than Ned could have. Or any one of those creeps._

Mickey has half a mind to go over to the gym and remind Ian of that fact. But then he’s replaying their entire argument from earlier and realizes he probably went too far, they both did, and he’s hoping, hoping that Ian might be feeling the same way. 

And yeah, Ian has big feelings about everything, and he has to say them out loud, but that’s one of the reasons Mickey loves him—big ole softy that he is. 

That’s why Mickey doesn’t linger too long at the bar as he says "so long," and V gives him this look, like she’s his mama who just caught him doing something stupid, but she’s gonna give him a chance to right his wrong. 

And that’s why he stops at the _bodega_ for a six pack—a peace offering of sorts. Nevermind that he pays for it with a twenty he slipped into his pocket from the dude's fanny pack at the Alibi. Coulda been worse. Besides, he warned the idiots.

Mickey goes back to the house and gets comfortable on the couch. He just has to wait for Ian. Like a beacon in a storm. _Poetic. Motherfuckin’ poetic._

He may not be a lot of things when it comes to Ian, but he's patient. He’s waited before. He’ll do it again. Ian always comes back. 

_Eighty-seven percent, my ass._ _Ian miscalculated that shit,_ Mickey decides. _Math was never his strongest subject._

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh...this episode. This season! So many feels. So much to read between the lines. Thank goodness for all the meta. Keep it coming!


End file.
